


Aftercare

by CCNSurvivor



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor
Summary: For Mambo Marie March: Sick Fic.After beating the Pagans, Marie makes sure that Zelda is healing.
Relationships: Marie LaFleur (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina) & Zelda Spellman, Marie LaFleur (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)/Zelda Spellman, Marie LaFleur/Zelda Spellman
Comments: 12
Kudos: 71
Collections: Mambo Marie March





	Aftercare

Hovering between the realm of the living and that of the dead had left Zelda with many impressions she could not categorise. Sensations, as though her skin was still made of paper, thin and transparent and flimsy. Sometimes, she could feel fingers ghosting over her, through her. Gentle fingers that probed and felt with care, that washed her brow and whispered through her hair. And a voice that spoke without fail. Sometimes words of reassurance in her ear, sometimes commanding foreign tongues which brought with them a rush of magic upon which her lifeless body floated. The aftershock of the bullet crashing through her lived somewhere inside her too, like a memory stored between the cage of her ribs. A gaping chasm, wide open and raw.

“Zelda?”  
  
She blinked and felt for the first time the warm hand resting lightly on her shoulder like a question mark.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
She turned to look into Marie’s open face, aware again of the other witches in the room who were milling about in the background, feasting on food and wine to celebrate their victory over the Pagans.  
  
“You are struggling, non?”  
  
Even as her eyebrows rose quizzically, she followed her gaze towards her abdomen. Unconsciously, her own hand had come to rest above it. “I won’t deny that it is a little sore. Not unexpectedly, of course.”  
  
“But still unpleasant. So as your chief doktè I insist to take another look.”  
  
“Now?” Zelda almost chuckled but Marie’s fingers only curled gently around her shoulder, a squeeze that became an invitation.  
  
“Oui, follow me.”  
  
She thought to protest but only briefly, as a glance over her shoulder confirmed that the other witches were barely taking notice of them, and so she followed the other woman down the winding corridors of the academy and into her own head office.  
  
“Undress yourself and take a seat.”  
  
Bemused, Zelda’s lips pinched into a line and she turned to Marie as she was closing the doors. “Are you telling me how to conduct myself in my own domain?”  
  
The dark eyes glistened with surprise and she put one hand up. “Yes, but only as far as your aftercare is concerned. Please, if anything I ask makes you uncomfortable, know that you can always say no.”  
  
Zelda frowned, pressing her palm deeper into the wound, an older wound that existed far beyond the fabric of clothes and skin.  
  
“Forgive me, Marie. My annoyance was misplaced.”  
  
“So we shall say no more about it, yes?” She smiled and Zelda turned, reaching back to grasp the zipper of her dress. “Can you describe the pain, chérie?”  
  
She tugged and pulled it down until she could shrug both shoulders out of it and secure the drooping half of the garment with her fingers near her middle. The mirror in front of her captured the snapshot of her reflection, and she was ashamed to see how vulnerable she looked. Underneath layers of make-up and perfectly coiffed hair, her exhaustion was starting to show and there was no sense in hiding it.  
  
“It changes frequently. Sometimes it’s dull and distant like an old injury, sometimes it rips and tears, sometimes it’s…sharp…like an incision. It’s as if I can feel someone cutting into me, parting my skin.”  
  
“Sense memories, eh? History stored in skin.” She watched Marie through the mirror as she approached, caught the precise moment in which her eyes lingered for just a second too long on her back. “You remember being shot and operated on.”  
  
Zelda looked away, focused on a spot in the glass until her sight started to blur. Her skin burned with lashings of the past, exposed now and forever on display.  
  
“I suppose I must do.”  
  
Marie rounded her and put on two latex gloves she hadn’t had before.  
  
“Apologies, chérie, my hands are not yet warm enough.” She placed them both on her hips and easily sank down into a crouch. “I did cut into you,” she continued, fingers cupping the angry red gash of the entry point. No symmetry in this act of destruction; no beauty, either.  
  
“To remove the bullet, to save my life.”  
  
“Yes.” Her gently probing touch was like a soothing caress along the length of her pain. “An intrusion still, n'est-ce pas? You were hardly conscious.”  
  
“You did what you had to do.”  
  
“Tsk.” A sharp click of the tongue and Marie had risen to her feet again, towering over her by just an inch or two. “A quick mind like yours will always find reasons for guilt and embarrassment. I know that you do not blame me, but I ask you now not to blame _yourself_ for feeling the pain of a penetration you could not consent to.” She stepped behind her once more and placed both palms on her back, sheltering her shoulder blades. “Be patient with yourself, Zelda. Every trauma needs time to heal. Time and proper care.”  
  
She brushed both thumbs along a particularly deep gash and spoke those foreign words Zelda recognised only by the melody of their sound. A rush of warmth whispered over her skin, cooling and gentle. Marie’s magic which she felt in a multitude of colours, making her whole again in a skilful act of _Kintsugi_.  
  
“Do you know how vodouisants know that they have been chosen for the title of Mambo?”  
  
Their gaze connected in the mirror and Zelda shook her head.  
  
"Sometimes, the spirits call to us in our dreams. Sometimes we are possessed. It is an honour to be spoken to. And yet we transform into mere temples for the messengers of Bondye.”  
  
She hiked the skirt of her long red robe up far enough for Zelda to notice a myriad of scars that ran up her smooth long legs like grasping arms of an ancient tree.  
  
“We are more alike than you think.”  
  
Her eyes were fond and tender when they found hers again, reassuring in their calm, and Zelda permitted herself to be held by them for as long as she desired and for as long as Marie was willing.  
  
“Touch me.”  
  
The plea cracked out, past brittle heart and stalling breath. Hoarse. Bold. Daring. And Marie obliged, warm lips enveloping age-old pain. Bare hands supporting her lower back. Caring for her, comforting her. A delicious kindness, entirely too novel.

**Author's Note:**

> \- kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or  
> mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum  
> \- I picture this happening just before their kiss scene  
> \- one day I'm hoping to write soft, soothing smut for them, but at the moment I'm just trying  
>  to meet the weekly prompt deadline


End file.
